We Won’t Take Photos Together Anymore

Hannah Neate hated having her picture taken more than anything. When her company held a press conference, she forbade any reporter from bringing a camera inside. I had been married to her for three years, but we never had a single wedding photo. She had an effortlessly frigid personality and would not waste her time getting her photo taken. She believed that it was a poor use of energy and time. One day, I saw a photo of her and a man in a photo booth at the mall. It was displayed as a couple’s photo template at the center of the wall. They were nestled close together. The man’s gaze was doting, and she was smiling sweetly. I tore the photo down and threw it onto her desk. She merely glanced at it and said lightly, “Dwade was just being playful. He insisted on dragging me there. Why are you upset? It’s just a photo.” I laughed exasperatedly. I had spent three years trying to get a photo with her, but another man got one in just three minutes, like it was nothing but a game to him. I took off my wedding ring and placed it on top of that photo. Since that was the case, I might as well disappear from her life for good. Chapter 1 (1st POV) When I set down the ring, my wife, Hannah Neate, finally looked up at me indifferently. “Are you actually taking off your wedding ring over a photo?” I looked into her eyes and said calmly, “Yes. It’s worth ending a marriage over, too.” A flicker of emotion finally crossed her face as she peered at me. “Lucas Bourne, you’re being really ridiculous right now.” I caught my breath. “Am I?” I asked through gritted teeth. “Then, I guess the husband who’s been married for three years and still doesn’t have a single wedding photo is even more ridiculous, isn’t he?” Her expression darkened. “I’ve mentioned this to you before. I don’t like having my picture taken. “It’s been three years. What are you still hung up on? Did you marry me, or did you marry a photo?” She turned away indifferently, as if I was a bitter wife making a scene over nothing. I recalled the day when we took our wedding photos. Just as the photographer was about to press the shutter, she threw up beside me. She apologized. I had believed her and let it slide. That changed when I saw the photos. She and the young man had taken multiple shots, posing intimately together. Meanwhile, our marriage felt nonexistent, just like our wedding photo. Persisting with the marriage was a poor use of my time and energy. “Hannah, do you think the black one looks better, or—” The office door was pushed open, and a man in a black suit barged in with a bright smile. He was Hannah’s assistant, Dwade Farley. He was also the man in the photo. “Mr. Bourne?” Dwade stopped in his tracks and said, “Sorry, I didn’t know you were here.” He lowered his head in a fluster, then froze when he saw the photo and the ring on the desk. He hurriedly said, “Sorry, Mr. Bourne, I didn’t mean to drag Hannah into taking that photo! “I’ve always thought of her as a big sister. I just asked her to play along.... “Why’d you take your ring off? Did I cause some kind of misunderstanding?” I stayed quiet. His voice grew softer as he cast Hannah a wounded look. “Lucas, apologize to Dwade,” she said coldly. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. “Apologize to him, you say,” I sneered. “For what?” “For jumping to conclusions and hurting Dwade’s feelings.” My heart went cold and numb. She lost her patience when I refused to budge. She looked away and said gently to him, “It’s okay. That’s not a wedding ring. “I just grabbed it on a whim. Take it and wear it. It goes perfectly with the suit I bought you.” His eyes lit up when he saw the expensive ring. “Thank you, Hannah!” His face beamed with delight when he put it on his finger. I turned and walked away, no longer feeling any reason to stay. Hannah called out from behind me. “Lucas, I’ll deliver a new ring tonight—” I slammed the door shut with a loud bang. Then, I rushed into the bathroom and threw up. My head was spinning. I somehow made it home. That evening, Hannah indeed had someone deliver a new ring. The craftsmanship was better, and it was even more expensive. I took a cursory glance and tossed it straight into the trash. I collapsed onto the bed in the bedroom and stared blankly at my phone screen. Then, I kept scrolling until I came across a familiar image. It was the wedding ring I had taken off earlier that day. It was on another man’s finger. “A new ring from Hannah. I love it!” My heart pounded like a drum as I tapped on Dwade’s profile. Every single day, he posted something. In every photo he posted, there she was. Chapter 2 Dwade never captured Hannah’s full face. Every photo only showed a part of her. One showed her hand feeding him medicine when he was sick. Another showed her back against a sky full of fireworks on New Year’s Eve. Yet another showed her eyes fixed on him across the glow of birthday candles, tender and adoring. His photography skills were actually quite ordinary. Even so, she let him photograph her. She once told me that because she was born out of wedlock, she spent her childhood enduring endless bullying and humiliation. Every time she was bullied, they would take photos of the scars on her body. That was why she developed psychological trauma and hated being photographed ever since. My heart broke when I heard what she had been through. For her sake, I even gave up my career as a photographer after we got married. In just three short years, she made an exception for another man. She let Dwade photograph her, calm and unguarded, her eyes full of love. A message suddenly popped up. [Mr. Bourne, Hannah’s had too much to drink tonight. I live closer, so I brought her back to my place to take care of her.] Dwade sent the message using Hannah’s phone. [I’ll send you a few pictures to keep you posted!] For some reason, he sent a live photo. The moment I opened it, I saw her lying on the couch. Her gaze was hazy and unfocused. “Dwade,” she said, gazing at the camera, and at him. “Come here.” “Hannah!” The screen went black because Dwade had been pulled away by her hand. “Sorry, Mr. Bourne. Hannah was just drunk and grabbed me by mistake. Nothing happened, I swear,” Dwade said smugly afterward. For some reason, I felt indifferent. I thought back to our wedding night. She had also been drunk that night. I had picked up my phone and smiled as I tried to sneak a photo of her. But she had grabbed me by the throat and pinned me hard into the couch. I would never forget the wariness and disgust in her eyes that night. Nor would I forget the deep infatuation in that photo of her from that live photo. I took a deep breath, opened my laptop, and sent out an email. I did not want to stay in that villa any longer. Hannah returned home the next day with Dwade. “I got drunk last night, so I crashed at Dwade’s place—” She explained herself calmly to me, but I calmly cut her off. “Yeah, I know.” She looked at me and froze for a moment. She frowned irritably, but she quickly returned to that cold, indifferent look. “Good. I’m glad you didn’t take it the wrong way. “I brought Dwade here today because I need to ask you a favor. “He wants to put on a photography exhibition. You used to be a photographer, right? Give him some pointers.” My fingers dug straight into my palm, and the pain made me hold my breath. I had given up my photography career for her, and she wanted to hold a photography exhibition for another man. “I quit photography a long time ago. I’ve got nothing to teach him,” I said coldly and turned to leave. “Mr. Bourne, wait!” Dwade caught up and grabbed me, then placed a stack of photos in my hands. “I genuinely want to learn from you!” I looked down at the photos in my hands. The one on top was a photo of him on top of Hannah on a bed. His innocent, harmless facade faded away as he leaned in and provoked me, saying, “Mr. Bourne, if you’re a smart man, you’ll know when to let go.” He shoved the photos hard into my hands. When I shoved him back with a grunt of pain, he tumbled backward. “Dwade!” Hannah rushed over in an instant and caught Dwade, who had fallen down a few steps. Then, she stood up and slapped me across the face. “Lucas, don’t push your luck!” She was about to scold me further, but she paused when she saw my gaze looking blank and lifeless. Dwade let out a cry of pain in her arms, and she shielded him and left. I laughed bitterly at myself and let my hand fall open. Blood dripped freely from my palm. Dwade had hidden a razor blade inside that stack of photos. But nothing mattered any longer. Just then, my phone rang. I answered the call I had been waiting for. Chapter 3 “Lucas, are you sure?” The voice on the other end of the line sounded surprised. I gave an absolutely certain answer. “Good. As I said before, as long as you’re willing to come back, there’s always a spot for you on the team.” I smiled and hung up the phone. That was right. I really should return to where I originally belonged. Not long after I hung up, Hannah sent me a message. [Dwade sprained his ankle. Stop by the hospital when you get a chance, and cook him some food while you’re at it.] [He likes his food mild. Go easy on the salt, skim off all the grease, and no scallions.] So, she actually had a good memory after all. I had been married to her for three years, and every one of the three birthday cakes she gave me had mango in it. I was allergic to mango. The first year, she had said she was too busy, hugged me, apologized, and made me a new cake on the spot. What happened the second year was that she forgot to leave a note and had the bakery send a new one to the house immediately. The third year, she said there was nothing to make a fuss about. Just tell Dwade and have it swapped out. I finally understood. The problem was never the cake. She was just never the right person for me. The next day, I sent her the divorce papers. She swiftly called me and told me to stop making a scene. But I told her I was not making a scene. I was doing it of my own free will. “Your own free will?” Her voice was flat and mocking. “Have you forgotten how you groveled in front of my mother just to marry me?” I was shocked when she brought it up. When I was dating Hannah, her mother, Lily Neate, was not pleased with me. She thought I was from a lower-class family. She made me take photos of her dog at a family dinner, saying I was only fit to be a dog photographer. At the time, I did not want to embarrass Hannah, so I obliged. Hannah had taken my hand and walked out of the family dinner right then and there. She told Lily that I was the man she had decided to spend her life with. Back then, she was willing to cut ties with Lily just to be with me. Yet at that moment, she was using that very thing to humiliate me. She said that I had schemed to marry her and be part of a higher-class family. An uncomfortable silence settled between us. She seemed to remember something too and cleared her throat. “Anyway, stop making a scene.” I lowered my hand. Before I could come up with another plan, she spoke again. “Dwade is having a photography exhibition next week. It’s his first time doing something like this, so he’s bound to be nervous. Come along and help him feel more at ease.” My chest tightened. I was about to refuse, but she continued speaking before I could. “Lucas, I’m warning you. Don’t pull any of your tricks this time. “Show up, and then I’ll consider having a real conversation with you about us.” She acted like she was doing me a huge favor, remaining just as condescending as ever. I let out a long sigh. To talk things through with her face to face and cut things off completely, I had no choice but to attend the exhibition as promised. But I did not expect Hannah to be far crueler than I had imagined. My blood ran cold the moment I stepped into the exhibition. Every single photograph displayed along the corridor was my work. On the stage, Dwade was smiling with smug confidence as he pointed to a photo beside him and said, “This one here, ‘Grassland in the Morning Light,’ is something I shot recently. It’s my most special piece...” I had risked my life for that photo. I had taken it three years ago in a war zone in Kondara. I rushed onto the stage and slapped him hard across the face. “Say that again. Who shot this photo?” Chapter 4 I was barely done interrogating Dwade when several bodyguards rushed forward and dragged me away. They covered my mouth and told the audience that I was a lunatic who had barged into the venue. Then, they hauled me backstage. I struggled with all my might until I caught sight of Hannah. “Hannah Neate!” The tape was torn off my mouth, and I cried out in despair. “Those are my photos. “You stole my work and handed it to Dwade!” Hannah seemed stung by my accusation. She frowned, looking annoyed and contemptuous. “Stole? “You haven’t been a photographer for years. Those photos were never released. What’s the big deal if I gave them to Dwade? “If he’s going to establish himself in the photography world, he needs a portfolio.” Her words hit me like a bucket of ice water. “Then, what about me?” I asked, my voice hoarse. “All my hard work. What gave you the right to use it to lay the groundwork for him?” Her gaze darkened, and she said, “I’ll compensate you.” Dwade ran backstage, grabbed me, and pleaded, “Mr. Bourne, please, just this one time. Help me out!” Seeing him so humble and desperate, her gaze softened with pity. She pulled Dwade over and then gave the bodyguards a look. Unable to take it anymore, I gathered all my strength and tried to break free from their grip, but a bodyguard shoved me, and I fell hard down the steps. There was a sharp crack. A steel pipe went straight through my arm. As I bled, I noticed Hannah panicking. The pain nearly made me faint. I was sent to the hospital and underwent a four-hour surgery to save my arm. When I woke up from the anesthesia, I saw her sitting by my bedside, looking unusually guilty. “Thank goodness you’re okay.” She gave me a few half-hearted apologies. She did not mention Dwade at all. In the end, she even said if I really cared that much about the photos, then once I recovered, she would go with me to retake our wedding photos. I stared at the ceiling and slowly laughed out loud. She was confused. “What are you laughing at?” “I’m laughing at your idea of making it up to me.” Ignoring her furious expression, I continued, “I don’t want you to make it up to me. “I want a divorce.” She stood up in a fury and slammed the hospital room door shut. Three days later, signed divorce papers were delivered to my bedside. When I saw it, I smiled with relief. The next time I saw her was the day I got discharged. Instead of sending me to the airport, the cab headed for an abandoned factory in the suburbs. Dwade looked at me with smug satisfaction as I lay bound on the floor. He waved his hand, and several men holding knives surrounded me. Then, he raised a camera and placed it on a stand nearby. “Mr. Bourne, you love photography, right? Then, let’s get you your fill. “Don’t worry. There’s plenty of footage. I’ll pick out a few nice shots of your broken arm and put them up online.” My arm, which had not fully healed, was pinned to the floor. Unable to break free, I stared in despair at the blade hanging above me. Dwade took a phone call, then left the place beaming with joy. The cracked phone screen beside me lit up. It was a message Hannah had just sent. [Dwade wants wedding photos as well. I’m going with him today.] [I’ll make it up to you another time.] The taste of blood spread through my mouth. I looked at her messages and laughed without making a sound. There would not be a next time. ... (3rd POV) Inside the bridal shop, Hannah held her phone with a frown. It had been two hours since she sent the message, and Lucas had not replied at all. That was completely unlike him. She started to feel uneasy. Even when Dwade came out in a suit, she only offered a few simple compliments. Just then, her phone rang. When she saw that her secretary, Taylor Jenkins, was calling her, for some reason, she felt a sharp pain in her chest. “Ms. Neate, something terrible has happened!” Taylor said urgently. “There was an explosion at an abandoned factory on the outskirts. It’s been burning for two hours! “Mr. Bourne might be in there—!”